


The Man I Love

by caswella



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, teenage superheroes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswella/pseuds/caswella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Tim waits, thinks, and maybe realizes about how he is one huge statistic. He will not think about those things that make him shake, and he may be wearing a red shirt but he is in no way, thinking about how long it took him to pick between this one and another. </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man I Love

Tim sits at the table, staring at the flickering candle in the middle of it. It’s been twenty minutes. He’ll wait a little bit longer, even though it may seem absurd to wait for someone who seemed to be so exuberant and excited about the date in the first place. If he was so excited why was he late? Conner has super-speed he should be here.

After all, it took Conner so long to ask him out. Like,  _out-out_ , and if the tell-tale signs of the awkward weeks before hand weren't bad enough, Tim had sensed something was up with Conner, and his deduction prowess left it all open in front of him.

Obviously the flustered teen wanted to say something to Tim for what seemed like weeks, and then when he finally did, he looked like he threw up; too shocked by the word vomit that had come tumbling out. But then Tim had said ‘yes’ and Conner almost looked to be like a nine-year-old being told they were going to Disneyland. He was really freaking excited.

But what is really getting to him is how public it all seems.

Because this was the place Conner told him they would be going, where Conner would be paying. All of it, he had mentioned. He didn't think about how he seemed like the girl here.

Though thinking about it, when he got home, after Conner had waved him off and flew away, Tim had gone to the kitchen, trying to go through the motions. Alfred was doing the last bit of chores, not mentioning Tim’s behavior. It wasn't until he sat on the bar stool, Alfred’s shoes echoing in the distance, with a glass of milk in front of him and a warm slice of banana bread between his lips that he realized what had really happened.

When it did click he put down the flavored bread and rubbed at his forehead. His face had heated up like a volcano. His skin had been hot all over.

And it would be ridiculous to say that Tim was thinking about married life, sitting in a fancy restaurant with his best suit, and some piano music playing in the background. Completely ridiculous, because that’s what girls do. Imagining the future and all the cute, precious moments they would share.

And yet he’s still waiting, holding his fork over the flame, rotating it, seeing how hot the ends would get. He’s not too sure he’s even aware he’s doing it.

And why should he notice? It’s the effortless action that’s keeping him sane anyway; waiting is starting to make him fidget. He can feel his feet doing a tap dance underneath the table, wanting to dash out of the expensive restaurant.

He put the fork down in favor of crossing his arms. He wasn't impressed. If Conner was so adamant about the date beforehand, why hadn't he shown up?

He feels humiliated. If Tim ever sees Conner again he will use the kryptonite ring and punch him in the throat.  
“Are you still waiting for your date sir?”

The waiter is middle aged, probably wanting to go home, he’s tired of these kids coming in acting like they’re righteous, when in reality the only thing they order is finger-strips and ask for more bread in their bread basket. He probably thinks that’s what Tim intends to do.  
He has a tough time trying to articulate that it’s not exactly a date, but he knows full well that it is. It would be somewhat embarrassing to see two young men having dinner with each other in a totally non-businesslike manner.

“Uh, yeah, my friend will be here soon” He keeps it nice and vague. ‘Friend’ could mean anyone; a girl, a guy. Not just yet, Tim thinks. The waiter leaves and Tim practices his breathing, his neck feels like it’s having a spasm on him; he really shouldn't feel so nervous.  
He runs his hand through his hair, then scratches at his arm. He’s starting to get antsy staring at the doorway. 

There’s a small war going on in his head. He shouldn't look at his watch, it’ll only make it worse, it’ll only make him want to go home and punch walls and Kryptonians and not tear up; definitely not tear up from the humiliation.

A shock comes when his jacket pocket vibrates and there’s a text from Bart.

_Whuts ur fav color??_

At least it’ll pass the time, Tim thinks.

He takes a second to think about the question, and comes up with something random.

_Yellow, why do you ask?_

He doesn’t get a text back, but when he turns around to survey the area he sees Conner at the front desk, pointing to him. His hand is behind his back and it all seems like a sign and Tim is maybe freaking out on the inside.

Conner’s smile is too bright for this world, and as he walks up to him, Tim looks back at the table, staring down at the cloth then back to the candle. The wax has melted quite a bit and it’s almost reached the bottom of the holder. This only makes Tim glare at the dwindling light.   
Conner comes into view and presents him with yellow tulips.

“Sorry you had to wait; I had to deal with some stuff in Smallville.”

Tim takes into account flower symbolism, but comes up with ten different answers. He’s still mad… but the flowers.

“It’s okay.”

It’s really not.

But he’s still red as hell.

Tim takes the flowers and smiles at them before putting them on the edge of the table. His grip lingers before finally letting go. He feels like there may be fireworks going off in his stomach. His solar plexus tightens as well as soon as Conner sits down and smiles at him like he’s the greatest piece of art in the world.

There is absolutely no reason for him to be this giddy. It’s just a date.

The waiter comes back. He obviously wondering just what the hell is going on, because there are two boys sitting at a table for two, and there was an obvious exchange of flowers. Tim’s face matches his shirt, he knows it.

Tim takes the time, while Conner is ordering, to look at him. He’s wearing a black suit, with a dark blue shirt underneath it, his tie is red, and its way too obvious what he was thinking about when he chose the outfit. They clash terribly but he still looks flawless and it seems really unfair.

The waiter leaves them, and Tim feels like he can’t move. He’s stiffer than a wall, and feels like he’ll pull a Batman and clam up when it comes to conversation with people.

But Conner starts the conversation and Tim is entirely grateful because he needs a minute to get his mind in working order because there is a candle between them, a bread basket, piano music, and a really great view off to his left and the city of Gotham has never looked prettier.

“I hope you like the flowers. Bart said you liked yellow so I bought some. I thought about getting roses but those seemed a little cliché and then I thought about getting lilies but they were sold out, but there were tulips and Ma loves tulips and they grow a lot around Smallville and  _they_ look pretty, and I liked them so I thought you might like them too,”

The man on the piano has been playing for a long time and Tim wonders if he’s had a break.

“Yeah, I love them. Thank you,”

Tim can feel things are going to take a turn for the awkward and doesn’t know how to put on the brakes, so he fidgets restlessly some more.

Conner smiles at him, a blush on his cheeks that makes him look all Boy Scout and maybe really cute.

“I’m sorry I was late, I should have called you or something but my head was… really somewhere else.”

Tim thinks about a cottage in the woods and then squashes that idea like a bug, then picks up the remains, puts it in a chest, wrapped with heavy chains, and then throws it into the ocean.

“Don’t worry, really Conner. The flowers make up for it”

The Boy Scout with bad taste in clothes smiles even more, all excited again, like the other day. Tim can feel his heart tighten, and for six seconds he believes he’s under cardiac arrest.

“Tim?”

“Yeah Conner?”

They’re silent for a moment. Conner is the one fidgeting now, his hand fiddling with a bread stick, eyes downcast in thought.  
Tim watches as he looks back up at him. His cheeks still pink with embarrassment, but his eyes gleaming with determination.

“I really like you Tim.”

He feels like he’s been shot, his heart going so fast he can probably power a computer from the speed and his face is radiating and he thinks he needs to take a sip of water to get rid of all this warmth.

“I like you too Conner.”

Take things slow, he tells himself. Things are progressing normally. Like any date. This is a normal date.

“I  _really_  like you Tim…”

The ellipses has terrible implications that knows no bounds and Tim is most definitely freaking out right now and he can’t help but think about really cute moments with Conner and they can’t be locked away or squashed or anything. He sees them dancing, cuddling while watching a movie, his legs laid out across Conner while they eat breakfast on the couch and watch cartoons that are truly childish and involve sponges that live under the sea.

“I, uh…”

“And I really want to keep doing this,”

“Um…”

“And I hope you feel the same way.” he looks a little sad as he says so.

Tim halts all potential answers.

Conner really likes him. He asked him out. They’re at this restaurant, and they are dressed to the nines, making nice over some pretty good bread sticks.

Tim Drake looks deep down in himself. He takes away the analytical part; he tries really hard to think up an answer. And what he finds is nice, makes warmth spread across his lower body and his cheeks flush.

“I do. Feel. The same way that is,”

Conner’s face looks like it’s about to split in two and Tim wants to kiss him. So he does. He leans across the table and gives him a simple kiss on the corner of his mouth. Conner is completely shocked, staring off into space when Tim sits back down, and is smiling joyously.   
The world really doesn’t matter. Because they have themselves breadsticks and so what if Tim is thinking about really cute things, because he feels really freaking good right now.

How old is he? Right, seventeen going on eighteen, it really makes sense.

This is one serious teenage love.   


**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this very long ago, sorry.


End file.
